


Circular Story

by spellitwithyourpeas



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, just for fun because I love these three, mini-character analysis, prose style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7406263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellitwithyourpeas/pseuds/spellitwithyourpeas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby contemplates her companions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circular Story

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly just a starting point to get a feel for these guys <3 I just adore them.   
> Title from the marvelous soundtrack that should have won awards.

The American was really the one that aggravated her. His pace was languid and his own. Words, a drawl on lips many would like to bite. Napoleon Solo walked like he owned time. Spoke, like the whole world was listening.

It was an act. An affair that she felt that she was playing witness too. Each movement, purposeful. Each detail, enticing.

His strength, aside from his muscled form, rose from his calculated delivery. Pillars to a façade and she wondered what lay at the foundation. A genius in disguise, dressed as a playboy. The illusion of control something he desperately needed. After all, his life wasn’t his own. At the moment.

What did the heart of a thief look like?

The Russian, well. He was easy. So much brute force struggling to contain itself that he practically wore his heart on his sleeve. Despite his attempts to hide, he was an open book.

It made him endearing (and dangerous).

She knew it was the merest of glances that gave Solo away-purposeful or not. A flicker of her eyes, half a second of time. A choice or a reaction?

Whatever the case, Ilya followed the flutter and used it to his advantage.

Whereas Solo was all thought-logical, an end goal in sight-Ilya was all heart. Passionate, angry red blood pumped through his vessels and it drove him. Motivated him and he acted in fluid movement. There was a disconnect with him-between the mind and the body. Rage, it seemed, had eaten its way in (or out) and sat in the driver’s seat.

A ticking time bomb.

A beast that needed to be controlled? Tamed?

Maybe understood, maybe a guide or a handler. Someone who could look him in the eye despite the barred teeth and stand up to him.

She held him back only once.

Pushed him, more times than she could count. Goaded him and enjoyed seeing him bristle and testing the durability of the cracks. Oh, but he couldn’t overpower her as easily as one would expect. Their rough and tumble a clue that she had more to her short stature than one might think.

But there was a gentleness to him. A softened gaze, the brush of fingertips against her thigh, a promise, and the almost kiss.

Despite the lost touch, it smothers her senses. Makes the air heavy.

Where did she fit in the mix? Hm. She was the level headed one. The one who worked with her hands. Greased and calloused. She liked efficiency. Liked a challenge.

But there was an air of grace that lingered in her. A stylistic appreciation that couldn’t be masked by motors and engines.

Memories of the sting as her hair was wound tightly in a bun.

The clap of her instructor signaling a position change. A voice on the other end of a telephone telling her to make a move. A foot in two worlds. Either way she knew how to follow orders.

She wielded her influence with expertise.

There was a weariness in her gaze. A skepticism (sleepless nights meant time to think). Taunting and testing-her specialty.

Yet there was a vulnerability to her. (He could see it when she held his hand in a loose grip, even in her drunken stupor).

They both handled her with careful consideration. Her companions were strangers. Words in a file. The two banter so much it makes her head ache. The vodka relieves her of her criticisms soon enough. By the time the mission is over, they feel like an intimate attachment-hard to let go (but God could she use the space).

One last look for the measly goodbye before she dragged herself out of Ilya’s room. Resigned to leave their business, unfinished.  

The one thing they all shared? Loneliness.

Together?

They were one mind, heart, and body. Complimentary and whole.


End file.
